Touched by an Angel
by angel-with-a-scythe
Summary: Terry/Bruce slash. Terry has resisted loving Bruce for so long, but emotions boil if left unattended. He finally gets the opportunity and the courage or perhaps stupidity?  to -show- him. Will Bruce allow himself to return his feelings? Terry's POV.


A/N: Hello, hello. Welcome to this insanity. I've always been obsessed with Batman (especially BatBey) but I never had a good idea to write for a fic. WELL NOW I DO. I hope you all understand it and like it. When you are finished with this, you should probably read the mirror story that is told in Bruce's POV. It will probably answer a lot of questions you may have by the end of this.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman or any of its characters. I get no profit, no one else does either, and it is purely to indulge in fantasy.

**Warnings**: Bruce/Terry slash. A little angsty. Emotional. Definitely some strong language and sexual content. Rated M.

Summary: Terry finally gets the opportunity to communicate how he feels in a way that words can't. Can Bruce return his feelings or will he send Terry home? Slash.

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**Touched by an Angel**

Though many considered him the devil, he was more like an angel: A dark, fallen angel that watched over Gotham; a city that didn't deserve his protection. Shunned by God, yet feared by Satan, there was no one that sacrificed more than this man for a city that hardly appreciated him enough and used him more often as a scapegoat than gave him the credit he deserved. And yet, this fallen angel asked nothing in return for his services, his protection, and his intelligence. Terry could never have believed that unconditional _anything_ could ever exist, because people were too selfish and oblivious to the needs of others as long as they were taken care of. Out of sight, out of mind. Still… here it was, cooped up in an old, yet beautifully dark mansion, watching over Gotham like a gargoyle watches over a church: His beautiful, aged, dying angel.

The thought sent a chill up his spine. No, Bruce was aging quite well, and no one would ever believe him to be dying. If he hadn't known immortality was impossible, Terry would have sworn Bruce was never going to die. In truth, the dark haired man didn't think Bruce would be dying any time soon at all, but he was desperately trying anything to keep his mind from going to the sexual tension that had been rising in him recently. Seriously, what was he? A pubescent teen? Well, you didn't have to be pubescent to be turned on by the sheer power and intelligence that oozed from Bruce like radioactive waste. He'd been under Bruce's "employment" for years now, and slowly, steadily, his obsession with the older man had grown. It happened immediately, but with Dana at his side, he'd ignored it, called it innocent names like admiration, but when Bruce was all he could think about, his relationship with Dana had gone very, very sour, no matter how much he tried to make it work.

Let's look at the facts: Dana is a beautiful young woman. She had a banging, shapely body and long, sexy black hair. She was tolerant of his lack of presence and flaking on dates because of "work," including falling asleep when they _were_ able to go out, and his lack of ability to 'get it up' when he was too exhausted. **She was his age**. Hmm, little red flag there. She had her bad sides, but everyone did, right? Sure, she could be a little… pissy at times, but it was a small price to pay considering all the shit he put her through.

Bruce is an old man… Well, if anyone had seen him with his clothes off, they probably couldn't believe that. The only thing that gave his age away was his white hair, and yet it was still full, soft, and thick, just begging to be pulled. Mm, he wondered if Bruce even made noises in the heat of passion... No, no, stick to the facts, McGinnis. Right. He had more scars than anyone on the planet, he was grumpy, angry, stoic, completely emotionless at times, and more frustrating than any enemy Terry had faced on the battlefield. Except… he was funny, smart, and those scars didn't take away at all from the still incredibly toned muscles that allowed the man to remain so... _young_, for lack of a better word. His eyes were intense and cut him to the core, and the hatred reserved for him pierced his rock hard exterior, hitting a nerve every fucking time. Bruce hated him. It was so obvious, but he kept Terry under his wing. Why? Bruce had picked him up out of the trash, straightened him up, and made him a real man. But he saw every night when he came back—dripping with sweat and successful yet again—the unmistakable hatred that burned behind the bat's eyes. However much hatred, Terry kept on, torturing himself and doing Bruce's bidding like a stupid, blind, loyal dog. But the most enchanting and deeply touching part of Bruce was the unconditional justice that he continued to provide for the citizens of the city. Gotham's fallen angel.

Thus, with only Bruce in his mind, it was completely unfair to keep Dana, willing as she was, when he had realized he was in love with someone else. It hurt them, they fought, and then they had both cried silently together for a long time before parting ways cordially, never to cross paths again. To this day, he'd never been able to tell her the truth: That he was in love with Bruce Wayne.

When he eventually told Bruce of the break-up, he only received a colder response than usual. "Batman can never love, Terry." He didn't understand why.

Bringing himself from his dismal, tormenting thoughts, he tucked his motorcycle helmet beneath his arm and spun the keys around his finger. Time for work again. He was in the bat cave, where he usually parked his own motorcycle now, seeing as he usually didn't have time to waste walking around the mansion as if on holiday. Would he ever even get a holiday?

"McGinnis." Bruce greeted, though he didn't turn to look at him, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. As usual. Terry grit his teeth and looked away, moving to the case where the bat suit lie.

"Mr. Wayne," he said in return. It was so formal, and he knew Bruce hated it but that's exactly why he said it. It brought him a small amount of satisfaction in the form of a small grin on his face as he pulled off his clothes. First he peeled off his shirt, tossing it on the floor just to annoy his employer, and noted the man turned around to give him that strange and silent stare, end even though it burned with hatred, it sent shivers down the younger man's spine. He wanted to know if Bruce liked what he saw, if he had noticed the new muscle definition he'd been steadily gaining as Batman and every waking moment he'd spend at the gym working the muscles that didn't get as much attention. Sure, he was still lean, but that's just that way his body was built and it allowed for the speed that Batman needed. Carefully, gracefully, he undid his zipper and turned just enough to give Bruce his profile as he pushed the jean material down his hips, over his thick quads, and kicked them the rest of the way off. He liked to do somewhat of a strip tease whenever the bat watched, hoping desperately that he'd find even a hint of desire in those eyes.

"So, anything come in yet or am I just going out on patrol for now?" He asked, pausing to turn and look at him. His emotions were closely guarded, as usual, and he was simply staring right into Terry's eyes. Of course.

"Patrol." Simple and to the point. Funny how he avoided conversation when he was in front of him, but when he was in the middle of a fight, he had no problem coming up with things to say. He remembered the time he was getting sliced at, pinned to the ground and Bruce had said "you're mother called. She wants you to pick up some milk on the way home." MILK? That couldn't wait until he was done with his shift? He would have laughed aloud if he hadn't been in danger of getting his head cut off. He smiled a little at the memory, pulling the bat suit from the case, and when he turned back to look at Bruce, his eyes met steely blue. Their gazes locked.

"You're distracted today," the older man observed.

Yeah, because I want to fuck my employer to high heaven. Fucking keen observations. Terry offered him a curt smile instead, putting a thumb between the elastic of his boxer's waistband and adjusted them on his hips; a habit. Still, their eyes never left each other, and now Terry was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. "…What?"

"I want your mind clear for tonight, McGinnis. No mistakes. Take care of whatever it is."

He frowned at the remark. He hated how Bruce looked down upon him like a child. He already understood that he had a lot to learn still so he didn't need a constant reminder like a slap in the face each time. And what was this? Bruce seemed amused at his anger, and that attention only stirred his soul. He liked it.

He loved it.

He liked the way their banter was playful, yet rough. It was the tough love Terry had learned to crave from Bruce, because it was the only love Bruce ever gave. It fit Terry's needs to a T. It made his blood boil in the most wonderful way. He had to remind himself to breathe with those cold eyes piercing his own and for once, he found himself at a loss for words. He had no witty come back because, to him, this situation was treading in dangerous, shark infested waters.

His feet moved of their own accord, batsuit dropping to the floor forgotten as he began to advance ever so slowly upon the man of power sitting so unmoved in that plush, leather chair. He'd take care of it alright. Once Bruce pushed him off, he'd finally be able to get over this silly little crush and shut his mind off to it. If he got fired, so be it. It was better than torturing himself every day with the need to conquer and be conquered.

"Whatever it is?" he asked, his steps graceful and light, careful to keep his face hard, eyes never leaving the ones that bore into his. The fire was burning behind eyes, clear for the older man to see and it was too late to turn back with a blatant line like that. He straddled Bruce's lap, swinging his arms to encircle the broad, muscled shoulders and tangled his fingers into that silky, white hair. He breathed his scent. This proximity was making him numb.

"What do you think you're doing, brat?" The voice fell upon deaf ears as the feeling of their two bodies pressed up against each other nearly drove Terry mad. Was it just Terry or did that remark sound a little half-assed? The warmth spread all over his body, down between his legs where he could feel his erection pulsing against Bruce's stomach, and he made sure the older man felt it. There was to be no confusion here. He didn't bother answering the foolish question he knew would be answered in a much better way, shortly thereafter.

He moved to kiss him, hesitating just a moment before their lips actually touched, contemplating to stop and run, and then his eyes fluttered closed as he poured everything he had into that kiss. All the years of devotion and love that had been building spilled over, seeping into that kiss that was filled with poison that could kill them both. It was surreal to think this was actually happening and that Bruce hadn't thrown him off yet.

Then Bruce kissed him back. Oh, sweet mother of… Don't let it stop. He couldn't help the relieved, pleasured moan that escaped his throat and melted into the rising heat of the kiss. The passion overflowed, and he was suddenly in a frenzy, wanting to tear off the clothes that separated their bodies, hands gripping that somehow perfectly healthy hair as their lips crushed together, some deep primal urge welling up inside of him to seize this opportunity for everything it was worth. He parted their lips only to pant to replenish the oxygen his system urgently began to need, pressing their foreheads together as his hands slid down to fumble with Bruce's belt. He received no protest, and that was all the permission he needed.

Bruce's body was scarred everywhere. Terry's eyes traced along each one as if trying to solve an impossible puzzle or maze, eyes shifting this way and that and his lips followed, hands busy peeling the clothes off to reveal each inch was more scarred than the last.

It was beautiful. It told the story of Batman, of Bruce's entire life, and Terry desperately wished he could have been a part of it. His jealousy spiked at the thought of every person he'd never even met that had been something significant to Bruce. He'd wipe clean every memory of them for that moment. He swore to it.

They moved together, rising to rid themselves of the last pieces of clothing, lips locked again with a deep growl from Bruce that sent shivers rippling up and down the younger man's spine, making his legs feel like jelly. A deep sigh of bliss parted his lips when they finally broke off again. He cracked his eyes open just enough to peer up at the intense face that stared back. Those eyes… No longer were they filled with hatred but had melted just enough to show a guarded desire and lust that burned like Terry's and it was better than anything he had ever imagined. How many people had torn down this iron wall? How many people had gotten this close to him and weren't sent away with bruises and blood? Well, he couldn't quite guarantee that that wouldn't happen to him either…

He pushed Bruce back into the chair, practically pouncing to straddle him again and rub their erections together in a friction that sent sparks across his vision in bursts and firework pops beneath the surface of his skin. Fingers that pried at his entrance elicited a groan so deep in his chest, he wasn't sure if it was his or Bruce's. He could hear nothing but their panting, each breath louder and quicker than the previous. Terry's hitched as two fingers entered, eyes squeezed shut against the small amount of pain that always came with the stretching, but there was hardly time to pay attention to that as he reached down and began to stroke Bruce's hard, pulsing cock that obviously had no issues rising to the occasion. Fuck, it was bigger than he'd anticipated and he wondered if he could even fit him inside, the mere thought sending a wave of excitement through him. Slick precum oozed from the slit of that hot muscle and, resisting the urge to clean it off with his already busy tongue, he stroked the substance all over to coat the head from whence it came. Their tongues clashed, and he pressed back against the older man's hand, gripping another fistful of hair, sweat beginning to form in large beads all over their bodies, making their skin slide and glide against each one another. Another finger: flares of pleasure jerking his body forward in an arch. He still couldn't believe this was happening, and prayed that if it was some sick dream that he would never, ever wake up.

He was lifted with surprising strength, but instead of coming back down, he was pushed over the edge of the computer, bent over, and gasped as that slick tip pressed into his entrance. For the love of… he shuddered, eyes fluttering closed as a strong hand gripped his hip and pulled him back to meet the thrust. Black sparkles flitted across his eyelids and vision, a grunt of pain and pleasure that almost came out as more of a whimper filling the air. Tears stung his eyes, but in that moment he wasn't sure if it was from the pain or from the intense feelings overwhelming him in that moment as Bruce took him, pressed him into the computer desk, and drove his thick cock deeper and deeper into him until he had accepted him to the hilt.

"Fuck." Terry hissed breathlessly, his neglected member twitching, needful. "Don't…" he almost couldn't get it out past the panting. "Don't stop!" His fists clenched, hair suddenly pulled, forcing him off the computer just enough to angle him down onto the cock that rammed into him over and over and over. His voice was already hoarse from crying out, and yet he wanted more. He wanted everything this man would give him: the pain, the pleasure, the hatred, the lust, the bruises. It was something he'd never felt in the entirety of his life. "Ahh!" By the time he realized his hair was free again, Bruce's hand was already wrapped around him, stroking him, pumping him towards completion that Terry wasn't sure he could handle anymore. He'd really bitten off more than he could chew. It all just kept rising and rising until he thought he was going to go mad!

A sound.

It was the warning growl that preceded the massive climax that came shortly after; a jerk behind him and suddenly a deep, hard thrust that poured seed into him like a dam breaking. The pulsing and pumping inside of him was enough to send him over, an explosion of a ticking bomb that had finally gone off. He covered the hand that rubbed him, long spurts accompanied by two entwined voices that laced through the air together like the swell of violent music.

And then there was nothing but their labored breathing. The stillness was suffocating and for a moment neither of them moved—couldn't move. When Bruce finally pulled out, it was given vocal complaint, and forcibly, Terry turned to look at him, eyes half-lidded with spent desire and a love that would make even Venus blush.

Bruce was silently picking up the clothing on the floor, hardly even looking at Terry now when it seemed like he couldn't take his eyes off of him before, and the younger Batman felt his heart plunge into his stomach. What did this mean?

"Are you satisfied?"

That cold, hard voice. No. No… anything but this.

"Now clean up, clear your mind, and get back to work."

The words hit him like a ton of bricks. His vision narrowed. He suddenly felt sick. Wordlessly, he lifted himself, already sore, bruises forming on his hips, and walked with humiliation and an astonishing amount of anger, swiped up his boxers and stomped over to the shower, shutting the door a little louder than he needed to.

What the fuck was his problem? He knew Bruce was cold, but he'd never imagined him to be the pity-fuck type. That man never played games. He didn't even laugh at jokes! So what the hell just happened? Intimacy and Bruce were like sworn enemies, so that this happened had to have meant something, right? Mulling over it in the shower only made him angrier, he had to ignore the pain that was building and bubbling at his core that threatening to send him over the edge. Boy did he want to hit something. He shut the water off, glaring at nothing in particular, like a child who didn't get his way, and snatched the towel from outside the shower and drying off quickly. The faster he could get out of here, the better.

Back in his boxers, he stalked out of the bathroom, shoulders tense and angry hands practically tearing at the bat suit to get it on. He noted Bruce looked as if nothing had even happened. He was clean, combed, groomed and sitting in his chair once again. Cocky bastard.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong," to his amazement, it was his own voice he was hearing. "You don't just do that with anyone. What the hell is this?" Zip.

"I do what I need to do, Terrance."

Oh fuck no. Using his full first name? And saying that this incredibly intimate experience was something he had to do with the implication of simply meeting Terry's needs? His disbelief was not masked.

"Need to? You play with other people's emotions because you _need_ to, Mr. _Wayne_?" he spat. Two could play at that game. This could be an all out war.

"No one ever said being Batman was easy."

"Yeah, if I had a credit for every time I heard that, I'd be richer than you by now. Don't give me those beat-around-the-bush dodgey answers that you give to everyone else." The mask. He stared at it before he snatched it up as well, clutching it in his hands and squeezing his eyes shut. "Bruce…"

There was far more pain in that one name than any number of words could describe in a lifetime. "This isn't…It's not just a… passing fancy." Language would never be sufficient for what he was trying to convey.

"Whatever you 'feel' for me, McGinnis, is a by-product of the solemnity and solitary confinement that comes with this job. Batman can never love."

He had half a mind to make a smart-ass remark about twisting the knife a little further to the left so he'd at least cleave his heart clean in two, but he hoped his look said enough. He pursed his lips.

"Then I can't be what this city needs." He tossed the mask at Bruce's feet. The younger man stood his ground and looked Bruce right in the eye, there was hardly even a twitch of an eyebrow.

"You _are_ what this city needs, Terry."

Silence.

He searched those eyes.

…

Picking up the mask and pulling it on, he didn't look back, spreading his black and red wings and taking flight.

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FIN.

A/N: Please let me know what you think. If you want Bruce's perspective (which will shed a lot of light on his decisions and emotions), please read _Haunted by the Devil_(Title subject to change, but this will be updated immediately if it is) I hope you enjoyed it. This is my first oneshot(I've only ever done crazy chapter stories. Weird right?), so I hope it ended well enough. Please review. :B I love you all.


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